Hermits and Ftards
by APimpNamedSlickback
Summary: Stan tries to relieve Kyle of his detached, television-induced lifestyle. -By the way, I wrote this at around 3AM, so don't expect much.-


Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

* * *

The air was crisp and the wind flurried around my face as I made my way to Kyle's place. He can never be bothered to leave the ardent comfort of his toxic living room couch, even when I plead and beg him to, so I'm always the one who has to make trips back and forth.

Kyle's not depressed by any means, nor has he recently experienced some traumatic life-changing event - well, nothing any more traumatic than having your fourth grade teacher's balls as kneecaps. No, the problem with Kyle is simple: laziness. The only thing he wants to do is sit around in his own waste and watch television all day.

This all began in middle school when he discovered bootleg movies. He became more and more distant from his social life, until he eventually only left his house for school. His mother was pissed that her son was spending all of his time glued to an idiot box rather than studying or doing homework, as you can imagine. She tried every form of discipline her mind could handle: Grounding him, protesting his favorite shows, boycotting TV altogether; unfortunately, it was all in vain. Kyle always found a way.

Even when I force him to engage in a conversation longer than the time span of a commercial break, he either quotes movies that nobody can even recognize, or he says something along the lines of, "Oh yeah! It's like that one episode where Terrence and Philip…"

It's driving me fucking insane.

I am determined to get him out of this slump. Today is the day I get Kyle Broflovski to come out of this desolate dreamland. No longer will my best friend be a hermit.

When I finally reach Kyle's house, I open up his front door and waltz right in with a mind set on persistency. However, when the living room is in my line of view, I see no sign of bushy red hair. Perplexed, I call out, "Kyle?"

No answer.

I assume he's in the bathroom or the kitchen, so I take a seat on the one piece of furniture he has spent so much time lounging on. I glance at the electronic catastrophe that he has spent so much of his time devoted to, and cringe. Jersey Shore. _Really, Kyle? Really?_

If he starts calling me Muff Cabbage, I'm out.

Apparently I've spent too much time thinking, because when I look up, Kyle's standing there. He has a really weird look on his face, and for a moment I think he's high. His eye's were half-lidded, and he had this tenacious ambiance of smugness surrounding him. And wait a second…did he shower? I have a feeling something bad is going to happen really soon.

"Stan, I need to tell you something," he states in a serious tone.

Oh, shit. Here it is. He's going to tell me he killed someone - and got the idea from CSI - and he needs me to help him bury the remains. Ugh, Cartman's dead. Of course it's Cartman, who else would it be? Kyle killed Cartman and needs me to help him clear up the evidence before anyone else finds out. It all made sense.

I realize that he's waiting for my response, so I say, "Okay."

He sighs and flops down next to me on the couch.

"Okay, Stan. Here it is. You ready?" I nod.

He pauses, clears his throat, and adopts an Italian accent: "I'm going to make an offer you can't refuse."

Although I'm thoroughly confused as to why he had to be Italian to say that, I ask, "What is it?"

"…I'm on a mission from God."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I demand.

He sighed dramatically like it was the simplest concept in the world and exclaimed in a deep voice, "I admire your honesty. Hell, I _like_ you, you can come over to my house and fuck my sister."

"Uh, you don't have a sister, dude." He rolls his eyes.

"What?" I interrogate further, offended.

"What country are you from?" he screams.

Startled, I ask again, "Uh…what?"

Kyle smirks, and continues, "'What' ain't no country I've ever heard of. They speak English in What?"

At this point, I recognize the scene and groan inwardly.

"Kyle..." I warn.

"ENGLISH, motherfucker, do you speak it?"

"Dude, seriously? Stop. With. The. Fucking. Movies."

He pauses.

"Fine. Television work for you?" - I take a moment to glare at him and he takes one to adopt yet another vocal persona, seemingly a black man - "I likes ya, and I wants ya. Now we can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way."

"What the fuck?"

"Stan. Do you want to go on a date?"

"What?"

"Say what again. Say what again, I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker-"

"Kyle! Shut the fuck up. Are you serious?"

"I really do dare you to say 'what,' again, Stan."

I feel a headache approaching. Rapidly. "About the date…"

"Well, yeah."

"But, doesn't that mean you'd have to leave your cave?"

I don't think he appreciates the comment. He sends a sharp look my way and gets up. "Let's go, fuck-tard."

"I never said yes."

"You don't need to say anything; I can see it in your eyes." And he winks. He fucking winks at me.

"I hate you."

He simply smiles, offering his hand to me, and I reluctantly take it.

At least I got him out of the house.

* * *

Refernces:

"I'm going to make an offer you can't refuse." - The Godfather

"…I'm on a mission from God." - The Bues Brothers

"I admire your honesty. Hell, I _like_ you, you can come over to my house and fuck my sister." - Heavy Metal Jacket

"What country are you from?", "'What' ain't no country I've ever heard of. They speak English in What?" , "ENGLISH, motherfucker, do you speak it?" , "Say what again. Say what again, I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker-" - Pulp Fiction

"I likes ya, and I wants ya. Now we can do this the hard way, or we can do this the easy way." - The Boondocks


End file.
